


The Librarian and the Assassin

by swampistan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom, captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Making Love, Post-The Winter Soldier, Smut, Some Fluff, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampistan/pseuds/swampistan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader is a librarian at a local Brooklyn library who meets an unknowingly familiar stranger...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Librarian and the Assassin

It is a beautiful December day in New York City. You are sitting at the reception desk of the small library in south Brooklyn with your new book, The Art Forger by B.A. Shapiro. It’s been a slow day, and you’re really into your book, so you don’t notice the young man come through the door. He slowly shuffles up to the desk, unsure of what to do or say.  
“Excuse me, ma’am?” he says softly, not making direct eye contact once you look up from your book. You notice he takes a step or two back, as if he feared you.  
“Yes, sir. How can I help you?” You put on your warmest smile, hoping to make him feel welcome and ease his fear. He clenches his hands at his sides for a few moments before he answers.  
“Um… can you help me find a book? I-It’s about World War Two.”  
You slowly rise from your chair and make your way around the counter, careful not to get too close to the man, lest you scare him even more. You beckon him to follow you to the Historical section of the library, taking a moment to really take him in. He would be attractive if not for the unruly scruff on his face that obscured his sharp cheekbones and the uncombed, brown hair that rested at the nape of his neck. His figure is hidden by dark jeans, combat boots, a long-sleeved shirt, and a Browning jacket that looks like it had been torn up by the alley dogs. The ball cap on his head is navy, with a red star in the middle of it. Dark circles haunt his eyes. His hands shake at his sides and his lips are blue from the cold. He looked like he had been through hell and back.  
“Do you know what the name of the book is?” you ask, flashing him your warm smile again. His eyebrows knit together, searching for a name, a keyword, something to give you.  
“I think it’s called America’s Captain. It’s about a man in World War Two who wore a red and blue striped suit.” You know exactly what book he’s looking for, because you yourself have read it a hundred times since you started working at the library. Captain America was your fixation for ages; you studied him in college and even included him in a final paper you wrote for your American History class. You easily find it and hand it to the man. He just gazes at the cover, taking in the image of the masked man with his comrades, the Howling Commandoes, beside him. He makes eye contact with a quiet “thank you” and makes his way to the nearest reading table.  
“My name is Y/N if you need anything else!” you call after him before walking back to your desk.  
You have a direct line of sight to his table, and watch him with great intent, book totally forgotten. His quietness and interest in Captain America intrigues you. You see a kindred spirit in him.  
As you watch, he slowly flips each page, taking in each color and black-and-white image on the pages. You knew he wasn’t reading, because periodically he would pause halfway through turning a page and stare intently at an image, his eyebrows knit even closer together. This behavior continues for a couple hours.  
The sun starts to set and you begin your rounds of straightening books, putting them back where they go, and pushing in chairs. By this time, everyone has left the library besides the man. You start on the side of the library opposite him, so you can give him the maximum amount of time to look at the book before you close. You gradually get closer and closer to him, pushing in chairs as quiet as you can. You finally reach his table and decide it’s time to tell him to leave.  
You reach out to tap him on the shoulder, but before you can touch him, his left hand, like lightning, seizes your wrist and grips it tight. Tears come to your eyes at the sudden pain, and your heart beats rapidly in your chest. He looks up into your face, with what looks to you like an intent to kill. But just ask quickly as he gripped your hand, his face changes to one of fear and regret. You see in his bloodshot eyes that he didn’t mean to hurt you; that it was somehow by instinct. He jumps out of his chair and sprints through the door before you can even say a word.  
You’re left with the book, rubbing your wrist. You look down to see which page he had been studying. It was Captain America’s bio page, with his face taking up the majority of the left side. You slowly close the book, put it away and gather your things.  
It’s very dark while you make your way home to your townhouse a few blocks away. Your thoughts are preoccupied with the man and why he wanted to see the Cap book. Your wrist still stings, but the pain is obscured by the cold. It’s a chilly night with snow gently falling and you find yourself wondering where that man is now, and hoping he isn’t out in the cold somewhere. You finally reach your home, and notice there’s another streetlamp out. Shaking your head, you vaguely wonder when someone is going to fix it. Once you’ve gone inside and locked the door, you toss yourself on the couch and gently drift off to sleep. Your last thought before your dreams take you is that the man’s hand was quite hard and cold through his gloves. Almost like it was made of metal…  
\---  
The next day you find yourself sitting at the reception desk staring at the door. You wonder why you’re expecting the man to come back, because you know he won’t after what happened yesterday. But you keep staring anyway, only breaking eye contact when a customer asks you a question or checks out a book. The day seems to go by quickly, making you anxious. You really wish he would come back, so you could see him and tell him everything was okay. Just as your mind begins to wander, pictures of his face and Captain America’s floating through your mind, another customer asks to check out a book. You reluctantly peel your eyes from the door and complete the transaction. While politely chatting with the customer, a lovely old lady who’s teaching herself how to cross-stitch, you notice the door swing open, but don’t see the person enter. Then you catch a glimpse of the torn Browning jacket, making your heart flutter with anticipation. You try to see where the man is headed, but the lady’s purse blocks your view.  
Finally, she leaves, and you begin your hunt for the man. You assume he’s gone to find the Captain America book, so you head in that direction first. The bookshelves are high, so you have to look down each one on either side of you. Despite your best efforts, you can’t find him. You decide to expand your search to the fiction section where the Captain America comic books are. No luck. It takes you a good twenty minutes to search the entire library, even the men’s restroom. You will forever block that memory after what happened in there.  
You make your way back to your desk, where, to your absolute surprise (and a little bit of relief) you see him perusing the pamphlets on the counter. He seems more at ease today, with his left hand in his jacket pocket while the other gently touches each pamphlet. He doesn’t look up when you approach, but acknowledges your presence by opening his stance slightly so his chest is facing you rather than the counter. You take this opportunity to ask, “May I help you?” as calmly as possible. You watch as his hand stops and hovers over a pamphlet and he raises his eyes to meet yours. They’re as blue as a glacier and as sharp as an icicle. You’re taken aback for a moment before you realize he asked you a question.  
“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that, sir?”  
“Can you show me where that book is, again, please?” he repeats, with no irritation or impatience in his voice. You detect a hint of something (is it sadness?) in his eyes when he mentions the book. You nod and quickly escort him to where the book is. You find it and are about to hand it to him when an idea springs to mind.  
“May I look at this with you?” By the look on his face you immediately regret the question. It’s a look of almost malice, as if he doesn’t want to share the book with anyone else. As if he is the only one ordained to look at this book. But then his expression changes to the look of regret from yesterday, and he slowly nods his head. You join him at his reading table (when did you start calling it “his”?) and sit with the book between you. He took the seat on the left after pulling your chair out for you and allowing you to sit first. You let him turn the pages at his own pace, enjoying the pictures on the pages that are forever burned into your mind. Pictures of Cap and his Howling Commandoes leading a troop to the front lines; Cap and his friend Bucky Barnes looking at a map and planning an attack; Agent Margaret “Peggy” Carter standing on Cap’s right while Bucky is on his left.  
He finally gets to a page with a spread on Bucky Barnes. You can see his hands shaking, but not from the cold. His fingers gently play over the man’s face, touching it with a familiarity, but at the same time, with a strangeness. You look into the man’s face to see his face contorted into a sad, worried expression. He’s staring intently at Bucky’s face, as if he’s trying to remember something about the man, like it’s important to him that he remembers. Tears start to catch on his eyelashes, threatening to fall. You gently touch his arm and watch your hand as you rub your finger across his jacket sleeve. You know he’s looking at you now, but you don’t want to meet those sad eyes just yet. You let your eyes wander to the page, looking over Bucky’s features, his clothes, his stance. You hold eyes with the print a moment longer before you look into the eyes of the man sitting next to you. A vague thought of resemblance flickers in the back of your mind, but is ignored once you gaze into the man’s eyes. Pain, anger, fear, sadness, regret. They all stare back at you from the tear-soaked eyes. Slowly, a tear falls from his eye and lands on the book, making the ink on the glossy paper bleed. But you can’t tear your eyes away. You want to, but when you look into his eyes you see a scared, wild animal that wants to find a home. You don’t consciously think it, but you know you can’t leave him here, nor can you let him leave to spend another night in the cold.  
“I’m taking you home with me,” you say, as if you were talking to a stray cat kicked out into the cold. “You’ll stay with me tonight.”  
You’re amazed at the quick transformation of emotions this man has. His eyes go from sadness, to slight confusion, to a small amount of joy and hope. It seems like he hasn’t known kindness in ages. The look of hope is what makes you tear your eyes away so he won’t see you cry. It’s close to closing time so you go through your rounds and usher the last of the people out. As you gather your things, you notice him still sitting at his reading table, staring at the book.  
“I can check that out for you if you would like, so you can take it home with us.” You watch as a small smile lifts the corners of his mouth while he nods. Once the book is checked out, he and you go to leave so you can lock up. You two are about to leave when you suddenly stop him.  
“Okay, mister. Before we can go home, I would like to know your name.” You expect him to take a while, since he is usually slow with his answers, but for the third time today, he surprises you.  
“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, ma’am.”  
\---  
As you walk down the darkened street with James, as he wants to be called, your mind is quickly trying to put the pieces together. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. Steve Roger’s best friend. But he died, back in World War 2, didn’t he? He fell off a train during a mission. Did that mean Bucky could be a super-soldier like Steve and survived? And lived this long? And why isn’t he with Steve? So many questions to answer, and the only person who can answer them will hardly speak to you.  
James is walking quietly on your left, carefully trudging through the snow to keep the frozen moisture from finding its way into his holey shoes. His breath puffs an icy halo for every step he takes and ices his stubble so he looks like Santa with a five o’clock shadow. You continue your walk in silence until you finally reach your doorstep.  
As you unlock the door and step to go inside, James pushes past you into the foyer. Frowning, you watch as he holds a hand up in your direction, motioning you to stay put. You try to say something, but he silences you with his stare. His attention is on the second floor, tilting his head to listen as if he were a cat. Quickly and quietly, he makes his way up the stairs and along the banister that leads to the guest bedroom. You hear a crash and what sounds like a hiss. You can’t tell if it’s human or feline. Then all of a sudden, a small brown ball of fur, followed by a larger brown ball of hair, streak past you into the street. There’s a small scuttle before James comes up victorious, holding your brown cat, Falcon, by the scruff. You can’t help but smile at the scene they make. James and Falcon are both equally covered in snow, and share the same grumpy face.  
“I found this in your house, ma’am. What would you like me to do with it?” James asks, staring at his new-found frenemy.  
“You can bring him back inside, please.” You say, trying so hard not to laugh. You motion him in and close the door behind him.  
“His name is Falcon, like the bird.” James continues to eye the feline with wariness as he stalks back upstairs to the guest bedroom. You take this opportunity to set down your things and turn on the lights. You make your way to the fridge where you pull out a carton of milk.  
“Want some?” You ask without looking at James. A silence follows, making you look up. James is staring at you, but you can tell he’s not seeing you. His eyes are expressionless, almost dead. You slowly walk over to him, but stop just out of arms-reach so you don’t startle him.  
“James, look at me.”  
His eyes slowly refocus on you, coming back from whatever memory had made him freeze. Blinking, he asks quietly, almost to himself, “You’re asking me?”  
You nod slowly, and hand him your glass. He takes it, gingerly, and stares at it, as if he can’t believe he can choose to have something. He brings the glass to his lips and tips it back like he hasn’t had milk, in well, almost a century. His eyes roll back in his head as he savors almost every drop, giving out a soft moan when he finishes. A dribble of milk slides down his chin, and without thinking, you reach out with your finger and catch it. As you lick your finger clean, your eyes lock with his. In his eyes you see a new emotion: a hunger, a wanting. You break the stare and turn to hide your blush. You know you shouldn’t, but no one has ever looked at you that way before. He’s a damaged man, and doesn’t have a complete idea of who he is. But on the other hand he needs someone to show him what it’s like to be cared for, to be loved. From what you can tell, he hasn’t known that feeling since 1945. You turn back around, but he’s gone. You see your front door ajar and run toward it, cursing yourself for leaving it unlocked. You fear he’s run, gone with the winter wind. You’re so focused on the street that you almost trip over him sitting on your stoop.  
“I-,“ you begin, but he shushes you, cutting you off. You follow his line of sight to the road, where two young boys, one brunette and one blonde, carry each other, battered and bruised, to a front porch. They knock on the door and light pours from the doorway as the lady ushers them in, scolding them as she does so.  
“That’s like me and Stevie,” he whispers with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. You sit down next to him, you on his right, and reach to hold his hand. He flinches slightly, before giving in and holding your hand tight. You start to lean in to put your head on his shoulder, but a gleam of metal catches your eye. It’s coming from his left hand, and before you know what you’re doing, you seize his hand and pull the glove off. And there, shining in the moonlight, is a metal hand; shiny as silver, hard as diamond.  
You look up at James for an explanation, but he’s frozen in time again as he stares at his own hand. It’s a reminder of a past he sorely wants to forget, and of one he so desperately wants to remember. And only he can do that. But you can help. You stand up, tugging his hand so he stands with you, and guide him inside, out of the cold. You close and lock the door and turn around. This time, he’s still there, holding your hand, with that look of hope in his eyes as if he knows too, that you can help him. And this time, you let him see you cry because you know, somehow, that you will find a way.  
\---  
You are getting James set up for the night while he takes a shower in the guest bathroom upstairs. He opted for a sleeping bag on the living room floor, instead of the Sealy in the guest bedroom. You think it may be because Falcon prefers that room, but when you asked James about it, he said something like “I prefer sleeping on the ground”. As you lay out the sleeping bag and pillow, humming to the tune of “Piano Man”, you hear a creak and look up. James is coming down the stairs in a towel. A goddamn towel. And nothing else.  
You feel your knees go weak for a moment as you trace your eyes up and down his tan, muscular form. Water droplets, shining in the beam of the upstairs light, run down his smooth pecs and torso. He must have just gotten out, because steam is still rolling off his body into the air. The metal arm gleams in the light, highlighting the red star on the shoulder. His face is still in shadow, so you feel a little better about checking out this man you just met. But once his face comes into the light, you almost lose it. He shaved. His sharp cheekbones set off everything about his face: eyes, nose, and mouth. Especially that mouth. Your eyes are drawn to those full, pink lips. His hair is even brushed sleek. It takes all your energy not to let your jaw drop at the sight.  
“A-Aren’t you going to towel off?” you gasp out, trying to sound casual while trying to keep your eyes from wandering over his body again. James just shrugs and continues into the kitchen without answering. He opens the fridge and takes out the milk, lifting the entire carton to his lips and gulping it down. The muscles in his right arm flex from holding the gallon carton, and his neck muscles work the milk down slowly. His left arm hangs limp and calm at his side. Who knew drinking milk could look this sexy.  
By the time he finishes the milk, you’re a hot mess of want and need. Holy shit. Just hours ago this man looked like a total bum. But now, he looks like an Olympic gold medalist; minus the metal arm. It was all you could do not to throw yourself at him in that moment. After disposing of the milk carton, he pads toward you, barely brushing your arm as he walks past to the stairs. You watch as he ascends, like a god, to the bathroom to finish preparing for bed. His ass is well-defined through the towel, which most men you’ve known can’t pull off.  
You sigh and turn to finish the preparations, a hot flush on your cheeks. You fluff the pillow absent-mindedly. It’s not until you hear him coming back down the stairs do you decide it’s time to get ready for bed yourself. You had washed his clothes so he is (sadly) now fully clothed in boxers and a white t-shirt. They’re bright red boxers, which draw your attention to his thighs. You figure that there truly must be a god, and thank him for blessing you with the privilege to gaze upon his beautiful creations. They’re the thickest thighs you have ever seen on a man. They are toned and tan, flexing beautifully with each step. You can only wonder what they lead up to.  
“Good night, James. I’ll see you in the morning,” You say, passing him to make your way up the stairs to bed.  
“Good night, Y/N,”  
You watch from the top of the stairs as he slides into the sleeping bag. Falcon pads down the stairs and goes to curl up at James’ feet. Before long, both are asleep and you creep up the stairs to your room.  
“What a day,” you say to yourself as you climb into bed. You fall asleep almost instantaneously, knowing that James will be there when you wake up.  
\---  
You wake up to a beam of winter morning light shining through your bedroom window. You slept in because today is your day off. As you stretch out your morning kinks, you hear a small meow to your right. Falcon is standing the in doorway, begging to be fed. But he is not alone. James is standing in the doorway too, staring at you.  
“What is for breakfast?”  
You groan as you look between the two hungry animals, then roll over and pull the bedsheets over your head.  
“Figure it out.” There’s a small weight that follows with a meow and a nudge. Falcon’s purring as he rubs against your back has the opposite effect of what he had intended. You start to fall back asleep, but before you know it, you’re in the air, in James’ arms, being whisked downstairs to the kitchen.  
You’re deposited on the cold tile floor along with the bedsheet that decided to hitch a ride. James and Falcon look at you expectantly. You slowly shuffle to the pantry where you take out Falcon’s food and pour some in his bowl. The cat is on his meal like white on rice. One down, one to go. You turn back to James, who had been watching you feed the cat. Now his blue eyes were piercing into yours, unblinking. You grab a bagel from the counter, pop it in the toaster, and wait for it to emerge toasted and hot. You quickly slap some cream cheese on both halves and shove it in James’ direction. While he eyes it warily, you make your way to the coffeepot and start a brew. It was a fool’s errand to bother you before you had had your coffee. But this case was different.  
As the aroma of coffee fills your nostrils, you breathe in a huge whiff and sigh. You open your eyes to find James’ staring at you with a quizzical expression.  
“What? Coffee is heaven, okay? Don’t look at me like that.” James just holds up his hands, a bagel half in each, and makes his way to the couch. You watch as he sits down and start to think about what you’re going to do about his situation. Should you try to contact Captain America, Steve Rogers? Tell him that his friend is here, with you, and is trying to regain his memory? But then, there may be a reason that James doesn’t want to be found. Surely he could have contacted Steve Rogers at some point. You have to admit, you are curious of his background: how he had lived, why he was here, and why he kept freezing up at the littlest of things. You know it has to do something with his metal arm. Maybe if you could find out a little more about the organization Steve Rogers had worked with, you could find information on James. You smile to yourself. You know what to do on your day off: go to work.  
“Alright, James, finish up and get dressed. We are headed to the library.”  
James grabs his clothes, which you had laid on the couch the night before, and heads to the upstairs bathroom to change. You follow him soon after you finish your coffee. As you pass the bathroom, you notice the door is cracked open, and you steal a look inside. You are not prepared for what is available, or bare, rather, to you through the crack. James’ entire backside is visible to you.  
You surprise yourself because you don’t soak in the finely-toned ass and thighs, but focus instead on the scars. They are all over his back. A majority of them are small, all about the size of a dime each, and are crowded around his left scapula where metal meets skin. More scars outline his spinal column and are evenly spaced as they trace down his back. There are a few random, larger scars that look like knife marks that didn’t heal properly. But from what you can see, the most recent injury was a dislocation of the right shoulder. Light purple bruising surrounds the socket, and has also drained down to the bottom of his armpit. James is slowly massaging the area with his metal hand and rolling his shoulder, but you can tell he’s not getting much relief. You quietly step into the bathroom, making eye contact with James in the mirror as you reach up and replace his hand with yours. You slowly start to work your fingers in and around the joint, careful not to press too hard, lest you hurt him, but giving enough pressure to relieve the pain. He relaxes under your fingers and gives out a small sigh. You continue to massage him for about ten minutes while he releases soft groans every now and then.  
You stop your ministrations and drop your hands to your sides, but don’t move. James turns to face you and makes eye contact with a soft look that you have not seen before. He leans forward and gently touches your lips with his, his hands on your arms.  
“Thank you,” he says as he pulls away, leaving you wanting for more. But you are afraid of pushing too hard, too fast. Aw, fuck it. You grab his shoulders and crash your lips into his. He returns the kiss just as strongly, pushing you against the door, slamming it shut. His hands are on your hips while yours are running through his hair. You’re vaguely aware of his nakedness as your mouth battles his for dominance. He rolls his hips into yours and you can feel his erection through your pajamas. You moan into each other’s mouths at the friction. You feel his hands work their way down, rolling your pajamas off your hips and letting them fall to the floor. Good thing you went commando.  
“Wait,” you say, before stepping over to the bathroom counter and pulling a condom out of the drawer. You roll it onto his length slowly as you meet his mouth again, this time kissing him more methodically, letting your tongue mingle with his. With a grunt, he picks you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. He is so close to your center, and you are just aching with need. He suddenly flashes you a cheeky grin. Oh, no. He sets you back down and stands close enough that you can feel his body heat, but far enough away that you aren’t touching. You’re both panting as you stare into each other’s eyes. He breaks eye contact first, tracing his finger down between your breasts, across your stomach, before eventually reaching your center. He applies pressure with his middle and forefinger, sending small shocks of pleasure through your body. Your head involuntarily tilts back against the door, and James seizes the moment to place gentle kisses along your throat. His fingers press harder before slowly slipping into you, one after the other. The pleasure you feel is overwhelming as you grind down onto his fingers, chasing your release.  
You’re not far from it when he removes his fingers, making you whine with need. He picks you up again and slides his cock into you as he takes your mouth in his. It doesn’t take long for you to get back to the edge that you were about to fall off moments earlier. You come with a scream of ecstasy as you pulse around his cock. He follows soon after, letting out a grunt before falling against you, his forehead pressed against your chest. You remain there for a couple minutes, panting in each other’s ears as you come down from your highs. He slides out of you, disposes of the condom, and moves to turn on the shower.  
Once the water is warm, he holds out his hand for you to take, and guides you into the stall. You help each other wash off, climb out of the shower and head to separate rooms to get dressed. Your body is still buzzing after what had just happened. But it was time to get back to the original plan: find out about James’ past.  
\---  
It’s been two weeks of late nights with coffee, spontaneous trips to the bookstore and library, and pouring over as many reference and comic books as you could find. And all you could show for it was the name of James’ previous organization: HYDRA. You guess they were some kind of Nazi branch that experimented on people. From the comic books, you found that Captain Rogers had fought it, and thought he had succeed after he brought down Red Skull. But somehow it had come back from the dead, much like James himself. Which then brought you to question how he survived the train crash, and got his metal arm. You are now sitting at your kitchen island, reading an autobiography of a man claiming to have worked for HYDRA, Armin Zola. He claimed to have experimented with alien technology under the command of the Red Skull. You are just starting to get bored with his narration of Tesseract weaponry when you notice a subheading that says “Prosthetic Weaponry”. You quickly scan through the words, looking for anything mentioning one “James Buchanan Barnes”. There.  
My greatest accomplishment was the attaching a newly developed metal arm to that of a Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. His arm had been severed at the elbow after a fall from a train in the German Alps. It was a long procedure, because we had to attach the arm both ex- and sub-dermally. The arm itself is made out of a rare, synthetic metal that included some Vibranium, along with other more common metals such as silver, bronze, and iron. It was wired using some of the aforementioned Tesseract technology, which allowed for superior strength, in addition for us to have a majority of the control over the limb. After the procedure was completed, we began the mind-wiping procedure (see page 152).  
You quickly flip to the page, but look up at James sitting across the island from you, rereading America’s Captain for the umpteenth time. You’re scared to look down at the page, afraid of what you are going to be reading, picturing. But you know you have to know, in order to find a way to help James. You slowly drop your eyes to the page and begin reading.  
We used electrical impulses to stimulate the brain, to open it up to new ideas, memories, thoughts. The chair consisted of small needles that lined either side of the spinal cord, starting at the base of the coccyx and running upwards to the brain stem. The needles would pierce the spinal cord and send small impulses between them. These impulses would then be relayed up and down the spinal cord and eventually make their way into the back of the brain. We also had an attachment at the head of the chair that would wrap around the entirety of the head, gaining access to the frontal lobe of the brain. Once the circuit was complete, we began the process of inputting information into the asset’s mind. We used his anger as fuel for thought suggestion. After several weeks of treatment, we finally were able to achieve our objective: a mindless assassin that would not question his motives or ours.  
After completing his first mission, we knew we had to preserve him for the next generation of HYDRA associates. We developed a way to cryogenically freeze him and not damage his body or his mental state….  
You tear your eyes away from the page, unable to read any more. Tears are quickly starting to form and run down your cheeks onto the pages. James looks up and notices you crying and rushes to move to your side.  
“What’s wrong?” he says earnestly. For the past couple weeks, he had become more open to you, both emotionally and physically, allowing you to touch him more often without moving away quickly after.  
You can’t answer him, so he looks down at the book. His eyebrows furrow deeply, a look you haven’t seen in a while. You watch as he reads the words, his face growing more stone-like with each sentence. All of a sudden, he slams the book shut and hurls it across the room. He turns toward you and hugs you tightly to his chest, almost too tightly.  
“That’s not who I am anymore,” he whispers into your hair. “And you’ve helped me see that.” You hold him tighter as the tears keep coming for the next few minutes.  
He gently picks you up and takes you upstairs, laying you on your bed. He lays down to face you and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear before stroking your cheek tenderly.  
“What they did to you-“  
“Shh.” He holds a finger in front of your lips. “Just rest,” he murmurs as he pulls your head into his chest once again. You close your eyes, breathing in his scent, one of manly musk mixed with laundry detergent from his shirt. He holds you tight as he rubs your back until you fall asleep.  
You know he stays with you through the night because you wake up from nightmares full of needles and strange men and bolts of electricity shooting through you to his warm embrace. More than once you find yourself curled into him, panting heavily as you try to calm yourself. His soft, incoherent murmurs and steady breathing are what calm you down enough to fall back asleep. This happens, at most, five times throughout the night: you jumping awake as the needles shoot into your back, screaming from the imaginary pain. But James is there, holding you so you know you’re not alone, so you know he understands. It isn’t until after the fifth time that you are able to sleep comfortably through the rest of the early morning and into the day.  
\---  
You wake up to James gone and the clock on your nightstand reading 12:15. The smell of bacon fills the air, making your stomach grumble. Suddenly, the smoke alarm goes off and you sprint down the stairs, only to find James, in the kitchen, trying to waft smoke from the oven out the back door. James turns to see you, and gives you a half smile and a shrug with two hands in the air, one holding a spatula.  
“I was trying to bake biscuits,” he says. You smile at him, grateful for the effort, as you climb down the rest of the stairs. He meets you halfway, giving you a small kiss on the forehead and a smile before turning back to his brunch disaster. You watch as he yanks the sheet of biscuits out of the oven with his bare hand, using curse words that you can only assume came from the ‘40s.  
You glide across the kitchen tile to the island, noticing both Zola’s book on the living room floor, and America’s Captain on the counter, open to the page on the Howling Commandoes. You settle into a chair and take in James’ form. He seems more relaxed in a navy blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His new dark-wash jeans accentuate the strong legs that lay beneath them. You can’t help while watching him and reflect back on the first time you saw him, with his torn-up jacket and unshaven face.  
After brunch, you opt to take Zola’s book back to the library. As you collect your things, James starts to put on his jacket to join you.  
“You don’t need to come. I’ll be fine.” He frowns at you, but wordlessly puts his jacket back on the hook.  
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be here when you get back.”  
You give him a small smile as you open the door and step out into the winter wonderland. You crunch through the soft snow to the library, lost in your own thoughts. You breathe in the fresh air, relaxing as you exhale. James was beginning to rub off on you, his calmness was contagious.  
You reach the library and stomp your boots to get the snow off and get the circulation moving through your feet again. You drop the book into the return chute, and make your way to the History Section, like you had for weeks now. You stand there and look at the books, scanning the titles but not really reading them. Your heart starts to sink as you think about James and what he could’ve been. No. I can’t think about this. I can’t think about the past now. It’s not even mine. James has accepted himself for who he is and who he will never be again. You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You take a deep breath and move to the children’s section.  
You reminisce for a few hours, reading books you remember from your childhood, including Dr. Seuss. Just as you begin reading Green Eggs and Ham, you look up and notice it beginning to get dark outside. There are few people in the library, one of which who is also in the children’s section with you. It’s a middle-aged man, and you catch him looking at you. You give him a small smile and continue reading. You sense that he’s still staring at you, so you slowly get up and put the book away before grabbing your things and moving closer to the front desk. You stand so your back is to the front door and you’re facing the man’s direction. You can feel that something was off about him, by the way he moved, almost too smoothly, to the Sports Section. After a few minutes, you watch him leave the library, turning left and heading downtown, opposite the direction of your house.  
You begin to relax a bit knowing that he’s gone. It was near the time for the library to close, so you leave the building, turning right, but taking a glance to your left as you do so, making sure no one was there. Confirming the absence of a warm body, you start to trudge home. It had started to snow heavily and there was a few inches of snow on the ground.  
You’re about halfway home when you hear puffing behind you. You turn and see a dark shape trailing you, silhouetted by the streetlamps. As you look, you determine it to be an older man with a package on his way home. Despite this, you speed up your pace, and before long, you’ve left the person behind. Relaxing once more, you continue to trudge on to your house, knowing that James will be there with a cup of hot chocolate to warm you up.  
You start to round the last corner to your street. Just as you cross under the burnt-out street light, someone grabs you from behind, putting their gloved hand over your mouth. You scream as loud as you can thrashing with your limbs with all your might. The man is strong and pins you against the wall with his body, his foul breath leeching into your nostrils. You feel him tugging at your waistband one-handed and pulling your jeans down to your knees, exposing you to the cold night air. He removes his hand from your wrist to undo his own pants. Once your hands are free, you take the advantage of his complacency and stomp on his foot with your boot heel. Simultaneously, you jab him in the ribs with your elbow and reach behind you with your dominant hand for his cock and pull. Hard. His screams pierce the air, making your ears ring. You kick him off of you, hike up your pants, and run.  
You don’t get far before you run into someone else. You start scratching and punching the person, determined to get free. All you’re thinking is that there are two men, and this one was the backup in case you got away from the first one. But the person’s grip is as strong as iron, and keeps your arms pinned to your sides. Just as you take another breath from screaming do you realize the person is talking to you.  
“Y/N, it’s me. James.” He keeps saying that over and over until you relax and slump into his arms.  
You’re crying now, and he’s carrying you to your house. He sets you down in the foyer to turn and lock the door. Like a zombie, you make your way upstairs to the bathroom where you turn on the shower and climb in, clothes and all. James follows soon after and sits next to you. You two sit there in the water, soaked to the bone, clothes plastered to your forms. You’re shivering against him from the shock. He’s peppering your face with butterfly kisses while telling you, “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe here. It’s going to be okay.”  
\---  
You barely remember leaving the shower, or going to bed, or even James and Falcon laying down next to you. It takes a great effort for you to get up in the morning. The sun is shining brightly through your window, but you don’t notice it. You slowly make your way down the stairs where James is waiting for you, steaming cup of coffee in his hand. You take it from him and sit down, setting the cup in front of you without taking a sip. You can’t even look at James. You stare at your cup without seeing it, reflecting on the night before. The cold, the foulness, the fear. That’s all you can see now, and feel. His rough hands against your ass, his fingers brushing you as he undid his belt. You don’t feel anything either. Your body and mind are numb. You know you should do something, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything at the moment.  
“I already called the police,” James says softly, giving you a small smile as you look up. You stare at him blankly and nod. “They’ll be here this afternoon to ask you some questions. Do you want me to be there with you? Y/N?”  
Tears come to your eyes as you nod. James moves toward you, touching you gently on the shoulder before enveloping you in a soft, comforting hug. You flinch at first, but let him hold you, because somewhere in the back of your mind you know he’s just trying to help. He lets you go and heads toward the breadbox, taking out a slice and putting it in the toaster. After they pop out, he butters it and lays it in front of you.  
“You need your strength. I know eating is the last thing you feel like doing right now, but you’ll need something to get you through the police’s questions.”  
You take one bite of the toast and immediately feel nauseous, but you force yourself to keep it down. No matter how horrible you feel right now, James is right. You finish the toast, followed by a long draught of your coffee. Somewhat full and warm on the inside, you start to feel a little more like yourself. You get up to go get dressed, and pull on James’ elbow, beckoning him to follow you. The last thing you wanted to be right now was alone, even in your own house. Your sense of security was pretty much gone.  
James and you make it upstairs to your bedroom. He sits on your bed while you pick out clothes to wear. You would’ve preferred not to change at all, but James insisted that you needed to be in a presentable fashion. As you start to strip, you notice James avert his eyes to the carpet. Your eyes soften and a smile pulls at your mouth as you acknowledge his respect for you. You replace your pajamas with a pair of jeans and your favorite sweatshirt. James looks up when you’ve finished and follows you back down the stairs.  
The back porch is covered in snow, preventing you from sitting out there while you wait. So instead, you join James on the couch while he flips through the channels on the TV. You snuggle closer to him as he puts his right arm around you. He finally finds Grease on TV and leaves it on. It’s just started so Sandy is wandering around the halls on her first day of school. You two sit in companionable silence, enjoying the movie without saying anything to one another. The only time James moves is the get up and make a couple peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.  
It’s 2:00 when the doorbell rings. You look fretfully at the door, afraid to move, afraid to relive last night again. James gets up smoothly and goes to the door. After looking through the peephole, he opens the door to two policemen, ushering them in out of the cold. They shake their heads after James offers them a drink and sit down on the couch and recliner on either side of you.  
You tell them every detail you could remember, starting with the guy at the library, giving as best a description as possible. They’re patient with you as they ask about the attempted rape, giving you time to answer before asking the next question. You feel relaxed during the questioning, but are still relieved when they police leave. You feel exhausted and get up to go back to bed, but James stops you.  
“Hold on a sec.” He moves toward the stereo and turns on the music. “It Feels Good” by Drake White starts playing, making you fully smile for the first time that day. He takes your hand and pulls you into a close embrace. You twirl around the living room, dancing and laughing to the music. James even belts out a few notes periodically, making your smile grow even wider. Before long, you both are exhausted and panting on the couch.  
“Thank you,” you say, leaning in and giving him a small kiss on the nose. His eyes light up and he pulls you onto your side against his chest as he lays down on the couch. You lay there for a few minutes before he suddenly starts to tickle you. You scream in laughter, trying to get him back, but the great Sergeant Barnes is not ticklish. Once you’ve caught your breath, you snuggle closer to him and fall asleep with him brushing his fingers through your hair.  
\---  
You wake up on the couch the next morning, facing James. He’s still asleep and his face is as peaceful as a sleeping baby. There are no worry lines on his face, no frown crinkles on his forehead. You’ve never been this close to his face before with your eyes open. The only marks you notice are shallow laugh lines around his eyes, as if it’s been a while since he’s truly smiled and they’re starting to fade. A strand of hair rests on his nose and you carefully push it away. His skin is soft as you tickle it with your fingertips. His eyes flutter open, the long lashes framing his ice-blue eyes. As his eyes slowly focus on you, a smile comes to his lips, making his eyes crinkle adorably.  
“Good morning, doll.” He tilts his head forward and rubs his nose against yours. “How are you doing?”  
You answer with a smile and a nod, rubbing his nose back with yours. You gently touch his lips with yours, and he returns the kiss. His lips are soft and warm against yours as he slips his arm around you and pulls you closer. The kiss is slow and unrushed, with no lust behind it. Your lips work together in harmony as you calmly breathe into each other’s mouths, breathing in each other’s scent.  
You break the kiss, standing up and holding out a hand for him to take. You haul him up, and the both of you head to the kitchen. It’s your turn to make breakfast so you take out a skillet and crack open a couple eggs into it. As the eggs cook, you make your coffee and stand by the stove to watch the eggs. James comes up behind you to put his arms around your waist, but you immediately try to elbow him in the ribs out of instinct, out of fear. You still hadn’t recovered from the incident and someone coming up behind you only triggered your defenses.  
James cushions the blow with his left hand, but doesn’t grab you. He doesn’t move, however, but keeps standing behind you.  
“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s just me. I’m sorry. I, of all people, should have known not to do that.” You relax your body with a sigh and turn towards him.  
“It’s okay. I just…”  
“I know.” He gives you a smile before guiding you to the island and pulling out a chair for you to sit on. He serves you the over-easy eggs with a slice of toast. He gets his own egg and sits across from you, watching you as you eat. After a few minutes he speaks again.  
“I know what to do.” You look up with a question on your face. “I found that the best way to find who I was, was to retrace my steps, start from the beginning; face who I was before I became… the Assassin, and what I’ve done since then. I had to face my fears. Which is what you need to do. Tonight we can take a short walk-“ You start shaking your head vigorously, panic rising in you again as the memories return.  
“Y/N, I’ll be watching your six the whole time. You’ll have nothing to worry about. No one will be able to come up behind you. I’ve got your back.”  
You stop shaking your head. The scared part of you doesn’t want to go, but the rational part knows James is right. It’s best to face your fears and conquer them. You make eye contact with him and slowly nod your head.  
“Okay.”  
James breaks into a wide grin and jumps up from his chair. “Excellent! Now, we are going to walk the route in the daytime, so you know what everything should look like, and where everything is. Let’s get dressed and head on out!” He sprints up the stairs to change, leaving you in the kitchen wondering if this was the old Bucky shining through. The thought made you smile as you follow suit.  
A few minutes later you’re both at the front door, putting on the last of your warm clothes. You had gone shopping for James, bringing him back a new Browning jacket, which he was wearing now, along with ski pants and his combat boots. You were as equally bundled in your jacket and pants, along with a scarf and beanie. You open the door to the great white world and step out, James at your back.  
“Alright, I’m going to walk behind you, and talk to you the entire time.”  
The snow is deep, almost up to your knees, and you sink in. The air is crisp, and the wind bites at your exposed skin. You breathe in the fresh air, which gives you a sense of calmness. You start your route, heading east, with James telling you when to turn. In between directions, James talks to you, asking you about your childhood, and sometimes inputting with the small memories of his own that are slowly coming back to him. You take in your surroundings, noticing every little detail of the snow-covered landscape.  
You’ve been walking for a while and talking, when James suddenly stops speaking.  
“James?” You turn around, but he’s not there. You start to panic, turning every which way to try to see where he went. You start to retrace your steps when an icy ball explodes into your back, showering you with snow. You turn to see James with a snowball in each hand, grinning from ear to ear. He hurls another one at you, but you dodge it with ease. You bend down and make your own snowball, chucking it at him, but missing. You scoop up some more snow and run after him, a smile frozen on your face. He runs from you, laughing. He hides behind a dumpster while you grab a trash can lid, holding it like a shield as you close in. Snow sprays with a loud thud as it hits the lid.  
“That’s not fair!” James bellows, rolling to hide behind another dumpster.  
“I’m not the one who’s a professional marksman!” You yell back, changing direction to try and flank him. You slow your breathing and creep through the snow around the edge of the dumpster. You are at his back now, and you take aim. The snowball soars through the air and nails him in the back of the neck.  
“Ah!” He gasps at the surprise cold, knocking the snow from his collar. “You win,” he says, with a smirk on his face. But before you can blink, he’s coming at you, scooping you up, and launching yourselves into a snowdrift. He rotates in the air so you land on top of him with a poof. There’s snow in his hair, which you start to pick out as you sit up, straddling him. He takes your hand from his hair and brings it to his lips, kissing it. His warm breath thaws your frozen fingers and seeps through your entire body.  
“You ready to head back?” He asks, letting his eyes wander over your face. You nod, getting up and offering him your hand once more. He takes it, but doesn’t fully stand. Instead, he kneels. Your mind becomes scrambled with questions. What the..? What is going on? What is this? Concern is written all over your face, but James ignores it. He takes a deep breath before speaking.  
“Y/N, I need to ask you something. It was tradition before the war that a guy would have a girl that he could write home to. You know I’m a wanted man, and I know S.H.I.E.L.D. is looking for me. I also know that there is a war coming. So what I’m asking is: will you be my best girl?” He looks up into your face with that look of hope you remember from so many weeks ago.  
“Of course,” you say, a tear trailing down your cheek. James gets up and puts his arm around you, leading you home.  
\---  
You finally get back to your house and strip out of your snow-soaked clothing. James heads to the kitchen to heat up some milk for a cup of hot chocolate for the both of you.  
After warming up from the hot brew, you start busying yourself with housework to take your mind off the walk this evening. You know you shouldn’t be scared because James will be there, but there’s still a small part of you that will always be wary of the dark.  
While you vacuum the living area, James is wiping down the kitchen, spraying the granite surface with Lysol before taking a cloth across it. You can’t help but admire the easiness and smoothness in which he moves. This thought reminds you of the man you saw in the library. You wonder if he had had the same training as James, in stealth and combat. You remember that the man had dark hair, with some salt-and-pepper stubble on his face. He had been wearing black clothing, which you now thought odd for a library, since the clothing had numerous pockets on both the pants and jacket. You knew he couldn’t have been the same guy who had attacked you; that guy had been bigger. This man was slim and well built, much like James. Maybe they were connected… But you can’t figure out how.  
You go back to your task, with your thoughts bouncing between James, the song stuck in your head, and S.H.I.E.L.D. You hum as you vacuum, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. James comes over after finishing the kitchen and stops the vacuum for you. He turns you towards him and wraps you in a hug.  
“Your face is as wrinkled as a raisin and you’ve done the living room three times now. Is everything alright?” He whispers into your hair. It’s not until then you relax the tension in your face, realizing that you had been so deep in thought, that you didn’t know you’d been frowning.  
“Yeah, I guess I’m worried about tonight,” you say, leaning into him. He takes you to the couch and sits next to you. His left hand pulls the hair from your face and you hold him by his wrist, letting his hand cradle your face. The cool metal is smooth against your cheek, and a chill runs through your body, making you shiver. This coolness, oddly, makes you want more. You suppose that the stress of the situation is making you crave intimate physical contact.  
You guide the metal hand down to your waist and under the hem of your shirt, making goosebumps rise all over your body. At the same time you lean forward and take his lips into a kiss, gentle at first, but then more forcefully. James breaks the kiss momentarily, but after muttering “alrighty then”, he dives back in with more earnest. His prosthetic traces up your spine, sending more chills through you. He gently lays you back on the couch and releases the kiss, trailing his fingers down your stomach to the waistband of your jeans. He undoes the button and zipper, pulling them down to your knees, which are straddling his waist. The icy-cold fingers of his metal hand touch you through your panties, making you squirm. All the while, he’s been maintaining eye contact with you and licking his lips with anticipation.  
He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder as he brings his face to your center, caressing it with his warm breath. Your whole body tingles with anticipation as he scrapes his stubble along your inner thighs before placing a kiss on your center of need through your underwear. You know you’re soaking as he peels your underwear down your legs ever so slowly. Barely a moment goes by before his lips are on your clit, sucking and making waves of pleasure rock your body. You’re barely thinking when he adds one of his metal fingers to the mix, making you gasp at the shocking cold. He moves it in and out before adding a second, curling them and hitting that spot that makes you come with a sigh. He laps at your juices, cleaning you with his tongue.  
He slowly crawls up your body and unites his lips with yours.  
“Feel better?” He asks, traveling your face with his eyes.  
“Yes,” you gasp, still recovering from your orgasm. James helps you sit upright so you can pull your pants back on. He heads to the kitchen to wipe off his face and hands, at which point you notice the bulge in his pants. As he turns to you while drying his hands, he sees you staring.  
“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a smile.  
You spend the next few minutes putting away the cleaning supplies. When you finish, it’s almost dusk and your heart begins to flutter. It was time.  
Once you head out into the snow, the iciness of the air chills you to the bone, but has a calming effect, too. You hear James breathing behind you, mirroring you as you trudge through the snow. Everything looks different now, as James said it would. The shadows were longer and deeper than in the day, and you feel your mind start to imagine things in the darkness. Paranoia starts to creep in, making you see men lurking, ready to strike.  
You stop. You can’t go any further. James stops with you and puts his hand on your shoulder, giving you a little push forward. Just one more step. You keep repeating this mantra for the rest of the walk, focusing on it and James’ heavy breathing rather than the darkness around you.  
You make it back to your house, shivering from the ice that has melted and run down the back of your clothes. James takes your coat and hangs it up, turning around to find you crying.  
“I did it.”  
He smiles and hugs you, matching your smile with his.  
“Yes, yes you did.”  
\---  
The next morning you find yourself in bed with James’ arms around you, his warm body curled against yours. His soft breathing tickles the hair on the back of your neck, making you shiver. You just lay there, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment, feeling safe and secure for the first time in a while.  
James stirs, turning his body so his back is to you, releasing you from your cozy prison. With an “hmph”, you get up and head downstairs for some coffee.  
The sun is just breaking out over the horizon, lighting up the snow on your back porch with flame-colored light. You take in the sight, holding your coffee up to your nose and breathing in the rich aroma. You stand there for a few minutes, sipping your coffee casually as you watch the sun rise over the trees and houses. A soft padding of feet sounds behind you, and you smile as you feel a warm pair of arms encircle your waist.  
“Morning,” a groggy voice whispers in your ear before giving you a kiss on the cheek. You turn around to give James a kiss, but find the man from the library standing there. He quickly spins you around and puts a knife to your throat.  
“Come down, you bastard! I’ve got your woman here and I’m not afraid to hurt her!” His voice is loud and booming, almost shaking the entire house.  
Your first instinct is to try to wriggle free, but you come to your senses quick and relax. There’s no need to waste energy trying to escape a man with a knife to your throat. You take a survey of how he has you pinned. He has his right arm around your shoulder with his hand resting at your throat with the knife. His left hand is holding your left elbow close to your side, leaving your right arm free to dangle. His legs are at shoulder-width and he’s standing on the balls of his feet, giving him an athletic stance with perfect balance. He would be very hard to throw off-balance in this position, so you wait for James to come zipping down the stairs, staying crouched once he reaches the ground floor.  
You watch him take a quick look at the situation, locating possible uses for weapons, and the best way to get you free. You know the man behind you is grinning widely, you can feel his breath and heartbeat accelerate from being so close to him.  
“What do you want, Crossbones?” James snarls, slowly inching toward you. You watch him ease toward the island where the knives are held in a drawer. Crossbones? Who the hell is Crossbones? You feel the man shuffle to rotate you to face James once he stops on the other side of the island.  
“We want you back, Winter Bear,” the man says in a mocking voice. “We miss you. Does your ‘best girl’ know who you are? Does she know what you’ve done? Does she know how many people you’ve killed for us? For HYDRA?” You can almost feel the smirk on the man’s face as he taunts James. You can see James’ face remain stoic, thinking, calculating.  
All of a sudden, James snatches a knife from the drawer and hurls it with precision at the man’s arm. As it pierces his flesh, the man tries to slice your throat but you roll with the motion, nicking you on your right shoulder. As you roll away, you kick sideways with your foot, connecting with his upper thigh, close to the sciatic nerve. James leaps over the island, tackling the man, wielding your largest carving knife. You watch as they grapple for dominance, evenly matched in both muscle mass and skill. You look around for something to grab to help James. There. You grab the frying pan off the stove and hold it in your dominant hand, ready to swing. Meanwhile, the two men are slicing at each other, trying to get the other pinned down just long enough to kill him. You take the opportunity to capitalize on a window and hit the man squarely in the back, knocking the wind out of him. Unfortunately, he keeps fighting. You land another blow that glances off his shoulder. You hear a crack as the bone fractures. The man howls, springing up onto his feet. He cleanly dodges James’ kill-strike and sprints out the front door. James follows him to the threshold and stops, letting the man go.  
James returns to you, breathing heavily from the exertion. He collapses in a chair at the island, and you put a glass of water in front of him. He drains it quickly, setting it heavily on the countertop with a thud. He puts his head in his hands, trying to slow down his breathing. You are doing the same, taking the seat next to him. A few minutes pass as you calm yourselves down, your breathing even. It’s not until now that you notice your shoulder. It is throbbing, and your shirt is soaked in blood. James also takes notice and wordlessly guides you to the bathroom.  
He finds your first aid kit and pulls out the suturing tools, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, gauze, and scissors. He cuts away your shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He takes a wet washcloth and wipes off the blood, rinsing it in the sink every couple dabs.  
“This is gonna hurt, doll,” he says with little ceremony before pouring the alcohol on your wound. You scream as it stings like blazes, the disinfectant seeping into your wound. You look down to see the damage. You have a gash that runs from the top of your shoulder down to the top of your armpit. It’s about a quarter-inch deep. It was a clean cut, with no ragged edges. You force yourself to look away as James begins the stitches.  
It takes him about twenty minutes to finish the sutures. He turns to rinse the utensils in the sink and you see trails of blood from numerous cuts sliding down his back and shoulders. You walk up behind him with the wet washcloth and start wiping the blood away from his back. The cuts are very minor and have already started to scab over. Once you’ve cleared away all the blood, you drop the washcloth and wrap your arms around James. You rest your cheek on his back for a few minutes, taking in the silence. You both know the truth, but are afraid to say so. It’s James who finally breaks the silence.  
“They found me.”  
\---  
For the next day and a half, you are in a state of constant worry. You keep looking out the curtain covered windows, watching for someone to come to your front porch, ready to take James back with them. Meanwhile, James is calm and collected, with little outward emotion.  
“They’re not going to come through the front door, Y/N,” he says, watching you pace the living room from his perch on the couch. You stop to look at him momentarily before resuming your pacing. You’re trying to think of a plan when James once again interrupts your thoughts.  
“You have to let them take me,” he says, matter-of-factly.  
“What do you mean I ‘have to let them take you’?! There’s no way in hell I’m going to let them. We have to hide you, get you somewhere so they can’t find you and take you away.” Tears are coming to your eyes now from the anger and fear you feel. Angry that you have no control over the situation, and fear for James.  
“I can’t let you get in the way. They’ll hurt you. And I can’t let that happen. I lo-... I just can’t. I care for you too much.” He gets up off the couch and moves into the kitchen to look out the back door. “They’ve found me once, they can find me again. No matter where I go, they’ll always find me.”  
You follow him to the door and lean your head against his shoulder.  
“You can’t just give up,” you whisper. “They don’t control you now. You’re a free man. Why can’t you fight back for your freedom?”  
“But you see, I’m not a free man. As long as HYDRA or SHIELD is out there, I will never be free.”  
He turns and looks at you, eyes solemn and full of worry. He brushes your cheek with his metal hand, wiping away your tears that have made their way down your face. You take his hand in yours and turn, leading him upstairs to your bedroom.  
“If that is your decision, then there’s one thing I’d like to do. Before they come for you.”  
You sit down on the bed together, looking into each other’s eyes. You cup his cheek with your hand, bringing his face close to yours. Your lips lock tenderly, exploring the softness, tasting each other’s skin one last time. He directs you to scoot toward the middle of the bed, keeping your lips connected to his while gently easing you back onto it. He begins to kiss your neck, unbuttoning your shirt as he does so. His lips dance along your skin, lightly making their way down to your clavicle where his tongue darts out to give you a warm lick.  
By now, he’s unbuttoned your shirt and his hands have moved to the waistband of your jeans. Once undone, he peels them down your legs slowly before coming back up to kiss you some more. Starting where he left off, his lips move downward between your breasts and onto your stomach. There, he lingers, breathing in your scent and filling your stomach with butterflies. The warm caress of his breath tickles you, making you smile. He looks up and makes eye contact, his face mirroring yours.  
He worships your body, leaving soft kisses everywhere, from your feet to your fingertips. Your body is burning from the numerous contacts, making you anxious. But you let him take his time, because you too want this to last as long as possible.  
He’s already discarded your bra and panties and is sucking on your tit, rolling the bud with his tongue. His right hand is gently stroking your center while the left massages your other breast. You are breathing heavy now, the sensations are almost overwhelming. You gasp when he finally dips a finger into you, caressing your inner walls with his digit. After adding a second, he moves his mouth from your nipple to meet yours, kissing you deeply. Your tongues dance while he rubs your clit with his thumb as he strokes you. You can feel yourself coming and he lets you, guiding you down from your high before removing his fingers.  
He is still fully clothed, which you make a quick remedy of after catching your breath. His cock is already hard and leaking, making your center ache once again. You gently curl your fingers around his length, moving your hand up and down. His eyes roll back in his forehead with pleasure and he rocks his hips into your hand.  
You turn him over so that he is on his back and you are above him. Keeping your hand rubbing on his cock, you start to kiss him like he did you: small, tender kisses all over his body. When your lips are at his neck, you nip him gently, making him start. He looks at you, and you grin back mischievously. You work your way down his stomach to the base of his cock. Licking upward, you reach his tip and take him into your mouth. You suck until you can feel him almost ready to come.  
Taking your mouth from his length with a soft pop, you reach into your nightstand and pull out a condom. You roll it onto him before centering yourself over him and sinking down. You moan in unison at the friction and the feeling of wholeness.  
Starting off slowly, you sink up and down on his length, enjoying the feel of him inside you. His hips move up to meet yours, increasing the friction. You speed up the pace with him keeping up; want for release taking over your actions. You can feel his cock swelling and starting to pulse. You are almost over the edge when he comes, spilling himself inside you, giving you the push you need to come too. You both cry in ecstasy, and you slump over him, sweaty and spent.  
You lay there for a couple minutes, catching your breaths. You can feel him softening inside you, so you move to get off, but James stops you by wrapping his arm around your waist.  
“Just a moment longer,” he whispers into your hair. You oblige and wait until his arm slides off of you. You finally get up, and are followed by James to the bathroom.  
Showering takes a while because you take a little too much time making out like love-struck teenagers under the stream. By the time you get out, your fingertips look like raisins.  
Just as you start to towel off, James comes up behind and turns you to face him.  
“I love you, Y/N,” he says, eyes full of feeling.  
“I love you too, James.”  
\---  
You jolt out of sleep early the next morning. Moonlight is still shining through your window and James is asleep beside you. You struggle to catch your breath, images of your nightmare still running through your mind. Men in black. You yelling. James’ face stoic and calm. Pain. Lots of pain. Somehow, you knew today was the day. Today was the day that the men in black would come and take James from you.  
“You have to let them take me,” he had said. Over your dead body. You were going to do whatever you could to keep the men from taking him. You’d fight, fight for him.  
You ease out of bed, careful not to wake James. He needed as much sleep as he could for the battle ahead. You walk softly down the carpeted stairs, leaping to skip the creaky one at the bottom. You had to come up with two plans: something to prevent them from taking James, and something to do if they do end up subduing him. Standing by the pot of coffee while it brewed, you turned over in your head all the ways the men could breach your house; as many as you could come up with at least. There were too many entrances. All your windows could be accessed via other people’s houses, your front door could be easily kicked in by highly-trained military men, and the back door was glass.  
You sigh as you sip your coffee. The only way you could think of was to launch an ambush. Maybe hide in the closet under the stairs and come out swinging. Swinging with what? You mentally crumple up that idea and throw it into your recycle bin.  
James comes down the stairs a few minutes later to find you pouring your third cup of coffee with a frown on your face, thinking deeply. He’s already dressed in a red Henley, jeans, a brown coat, and a navy blue baseball cap. You lock eyes and you can see that he can sense it, too. That feeling of inevitable conflict. He moves toward you in that smooth gait you know so well, with the alertness of a feline. You can almost see his ears twitching, listening for the slightest sound. You set down your mug to give him a long hug. His shirt smells like him, and you breathe in deeply, trying to ingrain the scent in your mind. You can feel his breath in your hair, making your scalp tingle with its warmth. He breaks the hug and backs up to look into your eyes, hands on your shoulders.  
“You know what you have to do,” he says. You just stand there shaking your head, unable to voice what you’re feeling, screaming at him from inside your head. You can’t just surrender! You have to fight them! You can beat them! I know you can. But you just stare back into those ice-blue eyes, reflecting back on the weeks since that first day in the library. Tears start to bead on your eyelashes, and James gives you a small smile, pulling you in for another hug.  
You don’t know how long you stand like this, but you savor every second of it, determined to never let go. His strong arms envelop you in a cocoon of safety, giving you some comfort in these minutes of dread. He ends the hug once again and leads you to the couch to wait. You sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company, afraid to break the magical unity that you feel.  
All of a sudden, you hear a crash, turning to see men in grappling gear breaking through your back door. James doesn’t even flinch. The only telltale sign that he heard anything was him squeezing your hand a little tighter. The moonlight frames the men in black as they point their large guns at James, lasers trained on his back and head.  
You both stand up to face them, James standing like a solid wall next to you. One man moves cautiously before seizing James by his left arm, ripping his hand from yours. You watch as the man takes out a pair of thick handcuffs, and locks them on James’ wrists with a small remote. He returns the remote to his jacket pocket before motioning for one of the other men to lead James toward the front door.  
“Wait!” You yell, pushing past the first man with the handcuffs; deftly removing the remote from his jacket pocket as you bump into him. By this time, there are men on either side of James, one holding onto each arm.  
You reach James, whose hands are handcuffed in front of him, allowing you to place your hands on his as you give him an open mouthed kiss. You watch as the men roll their eyes and look away, giving you time to slip James the remote.  
“Be careful,” you whisper, breaking the kiss. James’ face is stoic except for a glint in his eye meaning he understood. He nods as the men turn him to leave, taking him out your front door and into the snow. The other men follow suit, leaving you alone in a house with no back door, broken glass, and a broken heart…  
.  
.  
.  
SIX MONTHS LATER

You are sitting at your kitchen island in your pajamas reading the morning paper. Coffee sits next to you, forgotten. The front page headline had caught your attention and you were absorbed in your reading:  
REGISTRATION ACT FOR SUPER-HUMANS VETOED  
The story discussed a “civil war” between two of earth’s mightiest heroes: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. Apparently they had fought over the registration act, with Tony for it and Steve against it. But what had truly caught your eye was a single name: James Buchanan Barnes. There was little mention of him, due to the fact that people couldn’t find him after the “war” had ended. According to the people of SHIELD, he was either MIA or KIA. It was assumed that HYDRA had somehow recovered him and had shipped him off to Russia for further training and testing.  
Tears pour down your face, afraid of what James’ fate. He had worked so hard to leave that life behind, but to return to that, to return to the monster he once was… you couldn’t bear the thought.  
He had written you letters every few days, saying that he loved you, and with just the location indicated on the post script. You knew not to reply, because you knew he’d be gone by the time it got there. You kept every letter he sent you. But the last couple months there had been nothing.  
Just as you get up to wipe your eyes, the doorbell rings. You aren’t expecting anyone, even if it is the middle of the day. After grabbing a tissue, you sneak over to your front window and peer out to see who’s at the door. You can’t see anything, other than the bright green grass lining your lawn and the flowers on your front porch. Moving to the door, you take a deep breath, adjust your clothing, and open it.  
And there, standing in front of you, alive, and clearly not brainwashed, is James. Your James.  
You leap into his arms, and he catches you, holding you close. You pepper his face with kisses before giving him a long-overdue one on the lips. You can feel him smile against your lips, making you smile even wider. Tears are coming down both your cheeks and his. You lean back to look at him. He has slight dark circles under his eyes, but those are overshadowed by the laugh lines that frame them. He has three-day-old stubble that tickles your cheeks and neck as he hugs you again.  
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” He asks, setting you down. “It’s been too long since I’ve been to see my best girl.” You beam back at him, taking his hand and leading him inside, up the stairs.  
You each take turns relearning each other’s bodies, revealing scars that weren’t there before. He takes you to your highest peak, and guides you slowly down; and you do the same for him. It feels so good to be near him again, to feel him inside and out, to feel loved. It was like he had never left.

FIN


End file.
